#view vault [art]

[indiegone]

HTTYD rewatch and i can't remove that one scene from brain, same goes with these two

[Keferon's monter hunter au]

[xdeewolfx]

tried replaying some tales but the game just didnt want to let me pick anything during one of the quicktime events </3 so i made art about it

[monikabose]

Large arts and crafts backyard deck photo with a pergola

[foone]

Look if there's one thing, just one thing, that I wish everyone understood about archiving, it's this:

We can always decide later that we don't need something we archived.

Like, if we archive a website that's full of THE WORST STUFF, like it turns out it's borderline illegal bot-made spam art, we can delete it. Gone.

We can also chose not to curate. You can make a list of the 100 Best Fanfic and just quietly not link to or mention the 20,000 RPFs of bigoted youtubers eating each other. No problem!

We can also make things not publicly available. This happens surprisingly often: like, sometimes there'll be a YouTube channel of alt-right bigotry that gets taken down by YouTube, but someone gives a copy to the internet archive, and they don't make it publicly available. Because it might be useful for researchers, and eventually historians, it's kept. But putting it online for everyone to see? That's just be propaganda for their bigotry. So it's hidden, for now. You can ask to see it, but you need a reason.

And we can say all these things, we can chose to delete it later, we can not curate it, we can hide it from public view... But we only have these options BECAUSE we archived it.

If we didn't archive it, we have no options. It is gone. I'm focusing on the negative here, but think about the positive side:

What if it turns out something we thought was junk turns out to be amazing new art?

What if something we thought of as pointless and not worth curating turns out to be influential?

What if something turns out to be of vital historical importance, the key that is used to solve a great mystery, the Rosetta stone for an era?

All of those things are great... If we archived it when we could.

Because this is an asymmetric problem:

If we archived it and it turns out it's not useful, we can delete.

If we didn't archive it and it turns out it is useful, OOPS!

You can't unlose something that's been lost. It's gone. This is a one way trip, it's already fallen off the cliff. Your only hope is that you're wrong about it being lost, and there is actually still a copy somewhere. If it's truly lost, your only option is to build a time machine.

And this has happened! There are things lost, so many of them that we know of, and many more we don't know of. There are BOOKS OF THE BIBLE referenced in the canon that simply do not exist anymore. Like, Paul says to go read his letter to the Laodiceans, and what did that letter say? We don't know. It's gone.

The most celebrated playwright in the English tradition has plays that are just gone. You want to perform or watch Love's Labours Won? TOO FUCKING BAD.

Want to watch Lon Cheyney's London After Midnight, a mystery-horror silent film from 1927? TOO BAD. The MGM vault burnt down in 1965 and the last known copy went up in smoke.

If something still exists, if it still is kept somewhere, there is always an opportunity to decide if it's worthy of being remembered. It can still be recognized for its merits, for its impact, for its importance, or just what it says about the time and culture and people who made it, and what they believed and thought and did. It can still be a useful part of history, even if we decide it's a horrible thing, a bigoted mess, a terrible piece of art. We have the opportunity to do all that.

If it's lost... We are out of options. All we can do is research it from how it affected other things. There's a lot of great books and plays and films and shows that we only know of because other contemporary sources talked about them so much. We're trying to figure out what it was and what it did, from tracing the shadow it cast on the rest of culture.

This is why archivists get anxious whenever people say "this thing is bad and should not be preserved". Because, yeah, maybe they're right. Maybe we'll look back and decide "yeah, that is worthless and we shouldn't waste the hard drive or warehouse space on it".

But if they're wrong, and we listen to them, and don't archive... We don't get a second chance at this. And archivists have been bitten too many times by talk of "we don't need copies, the original studio has the masters!" (it burnt down), or "this isn't worth preserving, it's just some damn silly fad" (the fad turned out to be the first steps of a cultural revolution), or "this media is degenerate/illegal/immoral" (it turns out those saying that were bigots and history doesn't agree with their assessment).

So we archive what we can. We can always decide later if it doesn't need preserving. And being a responsible archivist often means preserving things but not making them publicly available, or being selective in what you archive (I back up a lot of old computer hard drives. Often they have personal photos and emails and banking information! That doesn't get saved).

But it's not really a good idea to be making quality or moral judgements of what you archive. Because maybe you're right, maybe a decade or two later you'll decide this didn't need to be saved. And you'll have the freedom to make that choice. But if you didn't archive it, and decide a decade later you were wrong... It's just gone now. You failed.

Because at the end of the day I'd rather look at an archive and see it includes 10,000 things I think are worthless trash, than look at an archive of on the "best things" and know that there are some things that simply cannot be included. Maybe they were better, but can't be considered as one of the best... Because they're just gone. No one has read them, no one has been able to read them.

We have a long history of losing things. The least we can do going forward is to try and avoid losing more. And leave it up to history to decide if what we saved was worth it.

My dream is for a future where critics can look at stuff made in the present and go "all of this was shit. Useless, badly made, bigoted, horrible. Don't waste your time on it!"

Because that's infinitely better than the future where all they can do is go "we don't know of this was any good... It was probably important? We just don't know. It's gone. And it's never coming back"

[calder]

In every mainline Fallout game except for New Vegas, players can earn the loyalty of a dog known as “Dogmeat.” As part of the main quest of Fallout 4, Dogmeat assists in tracking down the antagonist, even if the player has never encountered him before. When you leave Kellogg’s home, Nick simply starts talking about Dogmeat as if he’s a known quantity.

Perhaps related to this quirk of the world, Dogmeat is first named in this game when the clairvoyant Mama Murphy recognizes him and addresses him by name. The game’s UI calls him “DOG” until he is recognized by Valentine or Murphy. It seems clear that this german shepherd is somehow an independent agent with a good reputation, or something.

Dogmeat does not have a loyalty quest associated with him, which is how the player would earn the other companions’ perks. However, upon finding Astoundingly Awesome Tales #9 within the Institute, Dogmeat becomes more resistant to damage. While this isn’t coherent or conclusive evidence of Dogmeat being a synth, it’s plainly prompting the audience to consider that idea. In light of these factors, his origins have been fiercely debated among the community.

The skeptics and “hard sci-fi” fans out there would have you believe that he’s merely a famous stray dog who solves crimes. But I believe there's something more remarkable at work.

There's a section in the Fallout 2 instruction book called the Vault Dweller's Memoirs, where the player character of the first game recounts what canonically happened. Due to Fallout’s famously terrible companion AI, if you travelled to Mariposa with Dogmeat, he would consistently run into the force fields and get vaporized. So, in the Memoirs, we learn that this is exactly what became of Dogmeat Prime, in canon. He loyally sprinted into a wall of solid light, and disappeared. What if our buddy simply awoke in a new, confusing place?

In Fallout 2, Dogmeat must be found at the Cafe of Broken Dreams, which is explicitly a liminal space. It appears randomly to travellers in the desert. The NPCs within are frozen in time, such as a young version of President Tandi, who mentions that Ian went to “the Abbey,” an area cut from the game. To gain Dogmeat’s trust, the Chosen One must equip the Vault Dweller’s V-13 jumpsuit, which Dogmeat recognizes as belonging to his dead master. You can also attack him to spawn Mad Max, who claims ownership of the dog. Max fits the description of Dogmeat's original owner given in Fallout.

There’s also the “puppies” perk in Fallout 3, which enables you to restore Dogmeat, in the event of his death. “Dogmeat’s puppy” inherits his base and ref ids. In other words, they ARE the same NPC, just renamed. So, the way this actually articulates is that whenever Dogmeat dies in combat, you can find him waiting for you back at Vault 101. In practice, it’s almost Bombadilian.

Lastly, please consider the following developer context.

In June of 2021, the dog who performed Dogmeat’s motion capture and voice for Fallout 4 passed away. A statue of her was placed outside of every Vault in the China-exclusive sequel to Fallout Shelter. She still watches over each player.

River's owner, developer Joel Burgess, honored her in a brief thread about her involvement in the game, and shared much about his thought process and design goals while leading the character’s development. The Dogmeat project changed course early on, after Mr. Joel saw a new member of the art team gathering references of snarling German Shepherds. This motivated him to bring River into the studio, so the artists and developers could spend time with her.

He wanted to steer the team away from viewing Dogmeat as a weapon, and towards viewing him as a friend. Everything special about Dogmeat was inspired by River. For example, whenever you travel with Dogmeat, he’s constantly running ahead of you to scout for danger, then turning to wait for you. This was inspired by River’s consistent behavior on long walks. The only way they were able to motivate River to bark for recordings was by separating her from Joel while he waited in the next room. Reading the thread, it’s very clear that he hoped Dogmeat would make players feel safe, encouraging them to explore, and to wonder. In his closing thoughts, he said the following:

-Joel Burgess

Mr. Joel felt it was important to express that the ambiguity of Dogmeat’s origin in Fallout 4 was deliberately built into his presentation. He also felt it was important that you know Dogmeat loves you. Dogmeat was designed, on every level, to reflect the audience’s inspirations, and to empower their curiosity.

The true lore of Dogmeat is a rorschach test. The only “right” answer is to pursue whatever captures your imagination.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: Please, don't touch the art

For this round, drabbles are written based on a random choice of character and image from this pinterest board. Pls feel free to keep adding to it.

Character: Nick Fowler

Prompt

Warnings: this drabble includes elements such as stalking. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

One might think you simple if they could see inside your brain. If they could feel the sheer awe that sweeps over you, consuming you with each little detail, stirring your stomach into maelstrom of emotion. Your first time abroad is as much a fantasy as a privilege. Too wonderful to be real. 

But it is. It’s all so real. It still hasn’t sunk in. Three days amid the ancient streets of a far-off land is not nearly long enough to convince you. 

You look up at the vaulted ceilings as you stop short. You mouth hangs open and you fix it only as you notice someone watching you. You give a sheepish smile and put your chin down. You try to seem casual as you near the painting behind the velvet rope.  

It will never feel normal to be in a place like this. Not for you. Your eyes stray from the art to the other patrons amid the low murmur. There’s a layer of deference in the air, a recognition of the layers of centuries old pigment and millenia tinged stone. 

You feel underdressed against the simple but sophisticated black attire of the art snobs. They belong  in their thick-framed glasses and statement jewelry. The men in their collars and ties, their pressed jackets, and leather loafers are almost apathetic to the sanctity all around them. 

As you put your attention back to the Italian artist’s brush strokes, a shadow approaches from your left. You shift to allow them a fair view of the painting. They come shoulder to shoulder with you, their sleeve grazing your corduroy jacket. 

“Beautiful,” he says. You resist the urge to look over at him. 

“Very,” you agree as you consider the difference between the azure and cyan shades. You imagine them being mixed on a board with yolk under a dusty Tuscan sun. 

He’s quiet as he stands in the lull. He clicks his tongue, “I didn’t mean the art.” 

It takes a moment to understand. When you catch his meaning, you turn to reply, a babble that fizzles into nothing. He’s gone. 

You flinch and look around. There’s no hint of the stranger, not that you could pick him out. You frown and blow out between your lips, once more facing the painting. Are you dreaming again? 

🖼

You sit on patio, parallel to the narrow walkway of the stony streets. You sip espresso from a small cup, hints of cinnamon and almond woven into the bitter taste. The warmth of the beverage adds to the beads of sweat drawn out by the afternoon sun. 

You set the cup down and pull your book closer. You’ve only flipped through a few pages so far. You just don’t have the mind for imagining when all around you is like a fairytale. You let it close and tap your fingers on the curling cover. 

The iron chair across from you scrapes on the ground and you sputter as a stranger promptly claims it. The man sits with his shoulders wide, legs open, and hands firmly on his thighs. He grins as you look at him with confusion. 

“Hello?” You utter. 

He smirks and scoffs in amusement, “hi.” 

You blink and wait for him to say more. Does he speak English? You look around then back to him.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak--” 

“You traveling alone?” He wonders. 

You snap your mouth shut and sit back. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Why is he asking? 

“Waiting for a friend,” you lie. 

His eyes flick up and down. You adjust the sheer scarf around your shoulders and hook one leg over the other. You move your wrist and peek down at your watch. 

“Ah, been waiting a while,” he muses. 

You don’t know how to answer. You pull your purse into your lap and stiffen, “so I have. I should call them.” 

“They didn’t come to the museum either.” 

You keep from standing up and flutter your lashes, “you’re following me.” 

“Checking in,” he stands and waves away a server as they approach, “making sure someone worse isn’t watching.” 

“Wha--” 

He’s already walking away. You shiver and stare after him, heart racing. Have been so oblivious that you didn’t even notice him? Hard to miss a man like that with his piercing blue eyes and sculpted features. Worse to think that you would be easier to miss. 

[ksmutsociety]

The Velvet Vault

Step away from the ordinary and uncover a world of shadowed libraries, where the scent of aged paper mingles with the musings of forgotten philosophers, and candlelit rooms echo with the whispers of timeless secrets and melancholic prose. Toast our one-year milestone by joining this event that promises to immerse you in the ultimate dark academia experience.

↳ A dark academia themed network event hosted by K Smut Society

Participant Requirements:

Open to all 21+ Kpop Fanfic Writers

Follow @ksmutsociety

Like & Reblog this event post

Participants must have a discord account to join the project server

Join Here

Submissions must meet the following requirements:

Adhere to our Society Rules.

Include at least one smut scene.

Provide a mini-playlist of at least 5 songs related to your fic.

Fic must be a minimum of 2,000 words.

Include at least one adult male kpop artist in the main pairing.

Draw inspiration from Dark Academia.

Feature a main character with one of the specified careers listed below.

Dark Academia Career List:

Librarian

Historian

Archivist

Collector

Antiquarian

Art Conservator

Museum Curator

Author

Editor

Researcher

Professor

Philosopher 

Linguist

Preservationist

Paleontologist

Dark Academia References:

Here are some common aesthetics, themes, and vibes within Dark Academia to consider when plotting your fic!

Intellectual Pursuits: A deep fascination with classical literature, philosophy, history, and the arts. Characters often engage in rigorous academic study and debate.

Gothic Aesthetics: An appreciation for the gothic style, including old, grand libraries, ivy-clad buildings, and dark, moody settings. The visual elements often evoke a sense of timelessness and melancholy.

Existential Reflection: Themes of existentialism and the search for meaning in life are prevalent. Characters might grapple with questions of mortality, identity, and the nature of existence.

Isolation and Loneliness: The protagonist often experiences feelings of isolation, whether physical or emotional, which can be amplified by their intense intellectual focus or by their outsider status.

Romanticism: A romanticized view of suffering and melancholy. Characters might be drawn to tragic or doomed love affairs, or find beauty in the somber and melancholic aspects of life.

Dark Secrets: Mysterious or sinister elements, such as hidden knowledge, academic rivalries, or tragic events. The pursuit of knowledge might lead to uncovering dark truths.

Academic Rivalry: Competitive or contentious relationships among scholars or students, often with intense intellectual debates or conflicts.

Classic Literature and Art: Frequent references to or influence from classic works of literature, art, and philosophy, often with a focus on the works of authors like Oscar Wilde, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and others from the late 19th to early 20th centuries.

Historical Settings: A penchant for settings that are old-world or historical, such as prestigious universities, old libraries, and grand estates, which contribute to the genre's timeless feel.

Aesthetic Rituals: The importance of rituals, traditions, and customs in the academic environment, often including late-night study sessions, formal gatherings, and other intellectual practices.

Schedule: 

September 2nd: Event begins

October 13th: Halfway point & last day to join

November 17th to 23rd: Posting period

November 24th: Project masterlist shared

KSS is thrilled to invite you to our first network event! We look forward to see the amazing ideas you come up with. Please reach out via our ask box if you have any questions.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to the volcanic rock house (it has a bunch of other rocks, too). Still sitting on the market, I've posted it before. Built in 1978 it's right on Lake Lyndon B. Johnson off the Colorado River, in Horseshoe Bay, TX. 6bds, 6ba, $13.5M.

Rocky front steps up to the front door. Odd placement of railings- I guess you shouldn't walk up the center.

Cement doors flanked by lava rock.

A matching curved wall. Note the stone flooring and random piece of lava rock on the left.

Steps down to a living room with a view of the lake. Natural lava rock forms decorate the stairs and rails. There's also a lava rock fireplace.

Terrace. Don't even think of diving off the terrace into the lake. Look at those rocks. (Murder-make-it-look-like-an-accident-scene?)

The kitchen has tree trunk custom-made cabinetry. I don't know if it's real or simulated. The island, however, is real lava rock. I think that the counters are real wood, but they could be laminate. There's also a large wine rack in the wall.

Double doors open to a bedroom. The whole house has amazing views of the LBJ River.

The spacious room has a vaulted ceiling and a private terrace.

The en-suite has a tile shower, tile sink counter and stone bowl-style sink.

The primary suite is huge and even has a loft, plus a vaulted ceiling.

There's even an accordion door to close out the light. Did they leave a piece of art?

There's an office area with a desk and cabinetry.

The terrace.

It has a large, rounded en-suite with tile and stone. Look at the shower- there's a bench to look out at the river. You could sit there naked, and wave to the boats going by.

Lava rock halls.

Outside is an infinity pool.

Covered stone patio with an outdoor kitchen.

Large wood deck beside the boat dock.

Gotta have a boat dock when you're right on a lake.

Beautiful natural landscaping.

Lots of rocks in the lake.

4.06 acres of property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/122-Estate-Dr-Horseshoe-Bay-TX-78657/2062670194_zpid/?

[literary-motif]

Hey! I really really love your writing!!<3

I was wondering if you could write a fluff of Zaros and reader. Where zaros says something extremely hurtful to reader then immediately regrets it and he starts to feel extremely bad. After that he makes it up for them, while he makes it for them reader can obviously tell that zaros has feelings for them and that he’s bad at hiding his true feelings. (I’m sorry if this isn’t clear!! I’m trying to explain my vision but idk how T-T)

Thank you!!<333

I Mean What I Say

Zaros Atha'lin x Reader

Warnings: survivor's guilt

When Zaros saw you in the garden, the corners of his lips perked up. The usual feeling of warmth in his chest at the sight of you was overshadowed by resentment.

The talk with his mother had been rather heavy. She was beyond disappointed, furious even that he fell behind in the trials now that the throne was so close. It had not been his fault, truthfully. 

He had tried his best, but it was an open secret that had him questioning the impartiality of the scholars constructing these trials that you were stronger than him, therefore beating him in physical combat, and more popular, easily securing your favor with the nobles and the people in a vote of confidence. 

Nira had been furious, telling him to do better, reminding him about how important this was both for the good of Serulla and the Atha’lin family. It hurt to know that his best was not good enough, that he was not equipped enough despite his hard work to bridge the gap years of unfair advantage had given you. 

He was desperate, the self-satisfied grin you had given him as the Serulla people cheered for you had burned a hole through his heart. What had you done to deserve their favor? He actually had ideas and plans to make life easier for them yet you had won them over with a few empty promises and forced smiles because you were the Earis and he was nothing more than a post-disgraced leech.

“Come to gloat?” he quipped, stepping up beside you. The seething rage and the feeling of injustice boiling within had turned his voice sharp. 

He knew you enjoyed watching him fail when he had been so confident in the beginning. It was a small mercy you did not outright mock him on that stage, turning him into a laughingstock for the entire kingdom.

You did not look up, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your brother’s grave.

The garden was kept in perfect condition, but not all the riches in the vaults under the castle could halt the passage of time that slowly began chiseling away his name on the stone. It had been years, but his absence still left an aching void in your chest. 

With the trials nearly completed, you could not help but wish for him to take the throne instead. It was his right, after all. No matter the days, weeks, or years you spent perfecting yourself, trying to become someone worthy of your mother’s legacy and the place he should have taken instead, you always fell short. 

You wished you had more of your brother’s kindness, more of his calmness. You wished he was here to teach you the art of subtlety, about talking for hours with someone who did not share your view on things and emerge with a compromise. You wished you had more of his charms, his carefree appearance when you knew he contemplated all his actions carefully. 

You wished he was here to cheer you on and guide you. But most of all, you wished he was here instead of you.

“I am not in the mood, Zaros,” you said bleakly. How long had it been that you were staring at the cold grave? The grass had turned humid, staining your robes and making you shiver as a gust of wind blew through the garden. 

“I wonder what he would have thought of you,” he said, deaf to your quiet melancholy. “Then again, the way I knew him, he would be ashamed of you.”

It was not like him to provoke you this harshly. His teases had always been that, with a few truths and thinly veiled resentments added here and there, but never outright mocking. But with defeat hanging over him and the taste on his tongue of the trials rigged in your favor, even Zaros could not contain himself anymore. 

Everyone had their breaking point.

“What the hell is your problem?” you spat, rising to your feet and spinning around to face him. The heavy quiet of your contemplations was broken by the fury now coursing through you. 

Zaros stared back at you, giving a low chuckle at your clenched fists and furrowed brows. “Losing control again?” he mocked, “How do you think that will look on you when you have a crown on your head? At least he” — he pointed to the grave — “knew how to keep it together and actually cared about the people!”

“And what do you suppose I do about that?” you screamed, digging your nails into your palms to suppress the need to break something. “What do you want from me? Should I go and look for a mage to bring him back? Should I summon an entity and trade my life for his? It’s not my fault he’s dead!”

“Maybe you should,” Zaros said coldly, the iciness in his voice freezing your blood and making you feel hollow. “Serulla would be better off without you, so perhaps you should look for a way to atone for the fact it was him who died and not you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but whatever venom you wanted to spit died on your tongue as Zaros’ words sunk in. You could only huff as your hands began to shake, the tightness in your throat choking you as tears blurred your vision. 

You turned before he could see them fall, leaving Zaros behind without another word. The steps you took towards the palace were measured as you tried to create the illusion of being unbothered by his cutting words. You only hoped he could not see your body trembling in the dim light. 

Zaros’ gaze did not follow you. He stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the tombstone as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. 

‘Should I summon an entity and trade my life for his?’ 

‘Maybe you should.’’

Had he really said that? He clasped a hand over his mouth, sinking to the ground in shock. Had he just told the person he loved to seek out death? His free hand grasped the grass, trying to ground himself as the world spun. What had he done?

“No— I didn’t mean it,” he muttered wide-eyed, heaving a shaking breath as waves of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have said something so cruel? What kind of person was he to let desperation and resentment guide him to say something like that?

How could he fix it? What could he possibly say to get back from that?

“I didn’t mean it,” he gasped, choking on his breath. “No, please. I didn’t mean it. Earis!” He looked up, but the garden was deserted. Of course you had gone, but where to?

‘Serulla would be better off without you.’

He needed to apologize, needed to make this right. 

Zaros got up shakily. He felt sick. What if this was it? What if he had ruined all the progress you two had made in getting closer again during the trials because he had snapped today?

“Damn the trials,” he whispered, bracing himself against the stone wall as the world kept spinning around him. Your chambers were just a few doors away. “Damn the throne. I don’t want it if it means losing you.”

He reached your door, knocking on it hurriedly. 

No answer.

“Earis?” he called. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, muffled and choked as if it came from far away. “Earis?” he tried again, louder this time.

“The Earis has gone out,” a servant said, poking their head around the corner, “the library is my best guess— Are you alright, Sarl Zaros?”

He nodded in thanks, waving a shaking hand in dismissal of the worried look. “Fine,” he answered curtly, stumbling towards the library before they could say another word. 

‘You should look for a way to atone for the fact that it was him who died and not you.’

“Earis?” he called shakily, letting the door of the library fall shut behind him. Silence was his answer. 

He leaned back, resting his head against the sturdy wood and wiping the tears from his face. He sighed, taking a deep breath and calming his racing heartbeat. If you weren’t here, he needed to—

His thoughts were interrupted by a sniffle echoing through the silence of the empty library.

“Earis,” he said softly, turning the corner to find you curled against one of the large windows. The light of the setting sun was illuminating your face in a gentle orange glow. The speck of dust in the air seemed to shine in the light, creating the illusion of warmth, when in reality the scene before him was heartbreaking. 

You did not look up at his approaching footsteps, turning your head away from him instead. “Come to gloat?” you rasped, continuing to look out.

Zaros flinched as you threw his words back at him. “No, I—” he sighed, sitting next to you on the windowsill. “I’m—”

“Save it,” you said tiredly, drawing your arms closer around you. “I don’t care. You’re right anyway. He would have been a better Regent. He would have been a better heir and it’s unfair that he can’t be.”

“It is,” he said, slowly reaching out his hand to take yours, “but his qualities don’t take away from yours. You can be a good ruler just as well. I’m sorry for what I said. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I hope you can forgive me with time. I— I was frustrated and angry. That’s no excuse for—”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, allowing Zaros’ hesitant touch against your hand.

“I could withdraw from contesting for the throne.”

“What?”

Your surprised exclamation made a small smile appear on Zaros’ face. You looked at him wide-eyed. After all the trials and all the challenges you mastered together, why would he drop out so close to the finish line?

“Consider it my gift of apology,” he said, squeezing your hand. His expression grew serious again. “In truth, we both know you’ve won. There is only one trial left and I doubt I can catch up with how far you’re leading. Additionally” — he hesitated — “I’m tired of playing my mother’s games. Whatever revenge scheme she has is slowly burying me with its weight and I— I don’t want to be the person you saw today.”

You were speechless. It sounded like a joke, but the sincerity you saw in his expression convinced you that it was true. “You’d do that for me?” you asked, searching his gaze. “You’d walk away from ruling Serulla simply to say you’re sorry?”

“I’d do anything to show you that I’m anguished at what I said to you and I am sorry. I don’t want to be someone you— someone you hate. Not anymore, not when we rekindled—”

Your hand on his cheek silenced Zaros immediately. He leaned into the touch with a soft gasp, brushing his lips against your palm. You tilted his head, leaning forward to kiss him. 

Zaros melted against you, his arms wrapping around your back and pulling you into him. All the tension between you seemed to melt away as he held you in his arms, your hands gently threading through his hair and making him sigh. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” he said as you broke apart, resting his head on your shoulder and squeezing you tighter. “I’m so sorry, believe me. I lo— I—”

You hummed, slowly nodding. “I know,” you whispered, tracing circles on his back. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

The sky was clear, giving you and Zaros an unobtrusive view of the constellations above. You were lying in the garden, the humid grass staining your clothes, but neither of you minded. The moment was far too precious. 

“Zaros?” you asked, raising his hand to your lips when he gave you a short grunt in response. “You’re one for revolutionary ideas, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his head from your shoulder to look at you. “You know I am, my Earis.”

“Here’s a thought for you then: What happens if we talk to the Queen come morning, telling her to call off the noble trials, and we instead rule together?”

Zaros was silent for a moment. “Together as what?” he asked quietly.

“Partners for now, and if perhaps it develops into something more, then we shall pursue that as well.”

“Revolutionary indeed, my Earis. Count me in.”

[cc-zerozero-ff]

Some important Unknown Quirks that I've noticed after watching compilations of its animations and dialogue nine million times while trying to draw it:

Whenever it vaults a window, you can hear its unseen slimy body sloshing around underneath the human skin it's wearing.

During its Mori animation, as it bends its legs over its head you can see its waistline jiggle and shift like there's something weird and wet inside of it. You can also see its swollen, lumpy back jiggling as it runs.

When you hear it talking, you can also hear this fucked up chittering and gurgling underneath the distorted voice. When you're Weakened, the voice suddenly sounds normal, and that chittering and gurgling is replaced by human whimpers and groans of pain. It's super freaky.

While it mostly repeats things its victims have said in order to toy with the people it's stalking, it isn't a mindless animal. It is also perfectly capable of conveying its own thoughts. It's sardonic ("You give me the creeps" and "Why so nervous tonight?" in its lobby commentary, and "Here's looking at you" and "Gotcha!" its Mori commentary), and kind of arrogant ("I, the nameless legend," "Tonight, the world at my feet," and "I deal in strange," in its lobby lines, "Now I'm mad" in its Mori lines). It just chooses not to talk to its victims like real people until right before it kills them.

When it pulls a survivor out of a locker, it turns its head completely backwards to look at them as it adjusts its hold on them. When it's stunned by a palette, its head gets knocked around in a full circle, and then it unwinds it back to face forward again. When breaking a palette, it leans back on its arms and on the leg that's facing backwards, since the knee would bend normally when it's leaning back.

The UVX launcher comes out of the bottom left (its left, not ours) hole in its throat. This hole is slightly bigger than the other three in its official bust render, and possibly in its official art as well, although it's tough to see. There's a third small tentacle above it that isn't rendered in the first-person view.

[indiegone]

these two gay natural disasters

(I was listening to poem-songs while doodling them, forgot to translate the lines to english, whoops.)

separated images:

if anyone wants translation for the lines, feel free to ask :>

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

[katealpha]

Art from LewiNog

Been replaying the Arkham Trilogy (I don’t own Origins), and when I got to City, an idea just popped into my head about during the parts when Selena is looking for help from Ivy. I fully wrote out the idea and even played it out with a character AI. Let’s see how you like this!

Just before Protocol 10 is activated, Catwoman is still in the thrall of Ivy. After they make that deal, Ivy does decide to let her live, but decides to leave Selena with a parting gift. Just before letting her go, she has one of her vines pump something into Selena’s mouth before dropping her, and refusing to elaborate what she just did. On the way to the vault, Catwoman complains about her stomach hurting, and she’s in the vault, she complains that she feels bloated. Like she ate way too much ham on Thanksgiving.

When she gets the loot from the vault, she drops the plant on the ground and this ends up triggering something inside. Her stomach groans audibly and she leans on the table, her belly growing out to full term size. She’s understandably in shock and vows to get Ivy back for this. She then, while in this condition, beats the TYGER guards and as she’s leaving with the cases, complains about the movement she feels. After that, she goes after Bruce who was buried under rubble.

Once she helps Bruce, he asks what happened and she bluntly tells him that Ivy did something to her, and that she thinks she’s pregnant, teasing that it could be his. Batman advices her to leave and go to a hospital.

After Protocol 10 ends, she goes back for her stuff, only to nearly die in the explosion, which sparks her maternal instincts kicking in, hoping the “thing” inside her is okay. She then goes after Two-Face, going through the museum in her condition, with Penguin and the thugs commenting on her new swollen appearance.

Two-Face threatens her “baby” after he’s subdued and she knocks him out before leaving. She meets with Bruce again, who then implores her to at least go to the Batcave or Freeze to figure out what’s happening. Selena declines, saying that maybe it’s Ivy’s pheromones getting to her, but she feels as light as a feather despite being extremely pregnant, and wants to at least get what’s left of her loot. So her default look from then on a full term pregnant Catwoman fight her way across Arkham City.

A riddler story for Knight would reveal that Catwoman went into labor very shortly afterwards and was able to get Batman’s help, brought to the Batcave. The birth nearly kills her, but she gives birth to a big, plant-based cat, which eventually grows to the size of a Tiger. In Knight, you encounter the beast and it leads you to the Orphanage that riddler is keeping Selena, who views the creature like her child.

[dduane]

...So I was noodling around with the above image as preliminary work for a piece of Middle Kingdoms concept art that's going to illustrate a chapter-heading rubric from The Door Into Sunset. And while working on it, I belatedly realized that to correctly set up that scene, I was first going to have to tear up the entire left-hand side of the image (and the space beyond it), because the new covered fish market I had in mind wasn't going to fit in the space.

So I rolled my eyes at myself (I should have seen this coming...), got busy tearing it up, and then built the fish market. It's very loosely based, as I think I mentioned somewhere here earlier, on the famous Vismarkt, the covered fishmarket in the center of Brugge in Belgium (a.k.a. Bruges). (Image via Carto.net.)

Back in medieval times, right through to the Renaissance and beyond, fish was originally sold in Bruges in the open, from wooden pallets. But other stallholders in the main market complained about the smell, and the fish-sellers themselves weren't happy with the venue: selling such perishable goods out in the broad (and often hot) daylight was suboptimal. A permanent, covered place for the fishmongers' stalls makes more sense. Yet at the same time, you want decent light on what you're selling or buying... just not direct sun.

Choosing the architecture for a market like this in Darthis city was also going to be an issue. The Vismarkt was installed in a new dedicated market square in 1821, with the architect opting for a Victorian-cum-Classical look: not something that would make sense in this alternate Earth—if I was seriously considering a straightforward copy, which I wasn't. However, the Darthene architectural aesthetic does contain both building styles very like our Romanesque style, and elements similarly reminiscent of Gothic. (Though in the Middle Kingdoms the AU-Romanesque wasn't abandoned when the kinda-Gothic came in, but coexists with it).

After I'd given the situation some thought, I found myself wanting something that drew on those two traditions... or would maybe kind of split the difference between them: a building open on all sides that would be relatively light and airy, recalling a tent or canopy. This kind of design's unquestionably made a lot easier in that universe by the availability of magic-workers able to pull stone out of the ground without excavation, and also able to fashion it into the desired shapes without the use of physical tools. So finally I settled on a broad, vaguely Gothic-styled cross or groined vault as the preferred shape for the roofs: then rummaged around to see what I could find in the local toolkit that would enable me to build it.

Semi-plan view:

Diagonal side view:

(Please note that all of these images are the result of the digital version of kitbashing, as I don’t currently have anything like the skills to create shapes like these in Blender.)

Better lighting in this case is fortunately a materials-technology issue, long since solved on our own Earth. The stone of the roof segments is what architects now would refer to as an "alabastrite marble", about an inch thick—light enough to need relatively little in the way of external supports, and thin enough to transmit light readily. This marble's name comes (probably obviously enough) from alabaster, which has been used on and off in European church windows since medieval times as an affordable alternative to glass, in times and places where that’s been expensive.

This approach has had occasional revivals in modern our-Earth architecture. However, since alabaster is only useful in relatively small pieces, and is vulnerable to heat and moisture, it's often replaced by thin-cut marble set in metal frameworks. One good example of this would be the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale. (image via Amusing Planet)

The thin-cut Vermont marble transmits light safely without endangering the documents. But sometimes genuine alabaster has been used, too: the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in Los Angeles features tens of thousands of panes of it. (image via Expedia)

The equivalent use of marble in the royal Arlene library rr'Virendir, in Prydon city—replacing much ancient glass destroyed during the earthquakes accompanying the last battle of the Great War—is probably where the Darthene authorities got the idea for this implementation. And since the marble used in this construction would almost certainly have come from Arlen, light-colored marble being the country’s “vernacular" stone due to it being quarried all over the place there, it makes perfect sense for this marble to have been a gift of the Arlene Throne to the city of Darthis. And would also account for the presence of his grace the King over there by the market stall up against the wall, pretending to check out the produce while he also checks out the nearly-finished construction (and, idly, two of his spouses).

The Queen is after all very picky about making sure her contractors are getting things right. Yes, she jokes a lot about having lots of room in the dungeons if things go wrong... but sometimes, if you don't know her, it's hard to be sure she's joking.

Meanwhile, so far, it doesn't look too bad.

Things learned over the past couple of weeks, in between also doing other work:

Translucence is a bitch to master in Daz Studio

Certain aspects of Blender are conspiring with one another to make me scream

My rendering computer is displaying a tendency toward quirkiness in the memory department that would register as nearly endearing if I could figure out what was causing it

...But at least now that the set I need is pretty much done (except for some minor tightening, straightening, and tweaking of materials and color temperatures), I can turn my attention to the question of how to produce the rather specialized VFX required for the two shot I'm setting up. ...Yeah, all this work has been for a two shot. But that shot needs people in the background, and the right street furniture. And nature abhors an undressed set. ...See also: "the backs of the melons."

Next challenge: track down a source for heaps of digitized prawns. :)

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Arranged verse, I want to see more Batman and Mrs.Wayne😔

There was a ridge that gave you a perfect view of the bridge. The juxtapositon of the edge of a stand of trees that had once been woods and swamp with the sprawl of the city and the harbor... it was a challenge, capturing that. But.

You liked a challenge sometimes. It gave you a way to fill the time. Not that anyone was going to care about your silly little paintings. But that was fine. It was nice to have something that was yours.

"It's dangerous out here," Batman said, frowning when you didn't turn.

"I don't think anyone would care very much if I went missing," you say practically. "The only reason it would matter is if my father wanted to get rid of someone else."

"Not even your husband-"

"I doubt it," you snort. There's no bitterness. Or sadness. It's all said as blandly as you'd point out that the sun rises in the east. The sun rises in the east, gravity is real, and no one would miss me. "I still don't know anything-"

"Do you want to know?"

"No."

Of course you don't, Bruce thought. If you know things you might have to do something about-

"I'm already in danger every time I step out my door. It would be easy for any of the families to use me- my death, maiming, or kidnapping, as a way to start a war. If I don't know anything they can't get information either."

Bruce stopped and peered over your shoulder. Letting your words penetrate. "How-"

"There are a set of rules," you explain. "Codes of conduct. Gentleman's agreements that are meant to keep people from behaving like complete animals." You do half turn then, "Just telling you these things exist could get me killed."

"What are they?"

"Wives are left out. Wives, daughters, and any son who isn't inheriting things. Thats first-

"Your husband isn't-"

"His family went legit, sure. But that doesn't mean there isn't dirty money in the vault still."

"Hn."

"I spent my summers working on preservation projects," you explain. "You can find a lot of things in Archives. Half the art in the manor was either stolen cheated for." You snort in spite of yourself. Not that it mattered, really but- there was something satisfying about knowing your husband didn't know that.

[alazystranger]

Do you have any bottom Luffy Zolu fic rec? (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

At your service, anon!

spill your wine by The_Furthest_City_Light : this one had me in a frenzy. I stayed awake all night to bingeread it! A/B/O dynamics

There’s—a certain stance, maybe, or the way light hits his captain just right when he stands on the rail of the Merry, all sharp curves of jawline and the gentle slope of his neck and bare shoulders. The contrast of his dark hair and tanned skin. The swell of his calf, too, Zoro finds distracting. The artful leanness of his captain. In those moments Zoro’s knees go weak. He nearly drops his swords, he’s so overcome with it. Beautiful, he thinks, and he’s got no clue if it’s him or his alpha thinking it. Beautiful. We'd be so good to you.

Twice impaled by Sabbath(I_AKnownGay): short and yet so good

Luffy wants an ear piercing because that would be so cool and everyone would be so jealous. What follows is a long awaited encounter that neither Luffy nor Zoro expected on such a regular quiet day.

anything for you by grimsoul: you know just by reading the summary that this will be an amazing read.

“I’ll only hurt you.” Despite not looking at him, Zoro feels Luffy smile, a golden sun that rivals the silver moon of the night. His fingers run through Zoro’s hair, ghosting along his scalp, so devastatingly gentle. “You can never hurt me,” Luffy whispers into the wind. Into his hair. Into his heart. Zoro learns the overwhelming truth and crumbles down under the devastating weight of it; that Luffy will do anything for his first mate just as much as Zoro will do anything for his captain.

take it to hell by lulushishii: reading this was so much fun!

After Luffy and Zoro disappear from a feast, Nami, Usopp, and Brook go searching for them while the others continue to party. After finding themselves locked inside a treasure vault, they notice a secret window to the next room over, where Zoro and Luffy have no idea that their poor, tormented crew mates can see everything they don’t want to see through the viewing side of a two way mirror.

stay in this night with me by lucerile. porn with feelings, my beloved

His fingertip traced Zoro’s cheekbone and down to his jaw before he met Zoro’s fixed gaze. He didn't even blink. “You said you wanted to fuck me.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that Zoro laughed quickly. He sat up on his elbows and caught Luffy’s mouth with his, groaning into the kiss. “I do,” he breathed into Luffy’s open mouth, tasting tangerines on his tongue. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for a while, captain.” Zoro and Luffy finally get some alone time.

perfectly planned by threeswordorgy. one of the best first time fics of zolu out there imo. also, sometimes the overprotective brothers thing becomes cringy but not in this one! the ending to this is gold.

They're finally taking the next step- sneaking Zoro through the window while Luffy's brothers are out

a tale of two gods by grimsoul. wrapping up this rec list without having any zolu religious imagery fics in it would be a crime. this made me feel so insane /pos

“Ne, Zoro, come with me,” Luffy said, giggling, pulling him closer. “You’re going to be a part of my court.” Contrary to what most people believed, hell was a rather cold place. Zoro had been quite used to it, the lack of light, the vast glaciers, his body no longer as fragile as it was eons ago, and so a simple touch like this from Luffy, from the sun, made him feel like his flesh was scorched—melting away easily like winter in summer’s heat. They were close, so close that their foreheads were almost touching, and despite the burn of it, Zoro didn’t push him away. He smirked, his one eye glowing just as red as Luffy’s. “Don’t decide something on your own, idiot.”

hope you have a good time with these.

enjoy!!